


Pleasing the God

by somehowunbroken



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Other, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-10
Updated: 2010-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for [info]sga_kinkmeme . "John/amorous tentacle beast. After lighting up an Ancient pendant off-world, John is chosen as a sacrifice to appease the hunger of the "god" of that planet. It turns out that 'hunger' is a euphemism. Bonus points if the tentacle being excretes something that makes an initially struggling John go all pliant and desperate for it." Explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pleasing the God

John walked carefully around the room, searching the walls for cracks, holes, anything that would afford him some sort of escape. Finding none, he stepped back and surveyed his cell, sighing in annoyance. This sort of shit always happened to his team, always happened to him.

John wondered, not for he first time, why nobody else in the entire galaxy seemed to have the ATA gene. If anyone on this planet had it, he surmised, they wouldn’t have been so awestruck when John had made that pendant light up, wouldn’t have separated him from his team, wouldn’t have thrown him into a cell and told him that he would remain there to “receive the god’s punishment.”

Great. Pissing off gods was a new low for him to sink to, though John suspected the ‘gods’ were nothing more than the Ancients’ machines, left behind and worshipped for their mysterious qualities.

He looked around the cell as he thought. It was surprisingly nice, for somewhere that he had to wait to meet some sort of terrible punishment. The walls were painted a nondescript beige, the floor was carpeted with something that didn’t look like it had once been an animal, and, most surprisingly to John, there was a large, comfortable-looking bed against one of the walls. Prison cells didn’t usually have beds; certainly not ones that were much larger than the one John used in Atlantis.

John mentally shrugged, figuring he could at least relax a little before going through whatever pleasing-the-god ritual he’d be forced into later. He stripped to his boxers and laid down on the bed. He sighed in contentment as he sank into the mattress. It was like someone had asked him what his fantasy mattress was and had made it just for him – firm enough to support his back, keep him comfortable, but soft enough to have some give to it.

He felt the prickling at the back of his mind just as he was falling asleep. There was Ancient technology activating somewhere nearby, and John’s eyes flew open suddenly, trying to identify it, but it was nothing he’d ever felt in Atlantis.

He sat up – or tried to. John glanced down reflexively, discomfort giving way to panic as he saw the light straps crisscrossing his chest, pinning him to the bed. This could not be good.

John struggled even harder as he felt the cool probe slide up his leg. It was shaped suspiciously like-

_Receive the god’s punishment._

John blinked and tried to struggle, but the bonds had him held tightly. “Hey!” he yelled, panicking, hoping to God that someone would hear him and break in because as embarrassing as it would be, rescue would be far preferable to-

John blinked again as the probe released some sort of… goo, or something, on his upper thigh. He closed his eyes as the probe moved back and forth, vibrating gently. It felt kind of nice, actually, like a massage. The probe continued its work, and John relaxed under its ministrations, not even starting when another probe slid up his other leg, squirting more goo and rubbing there, too.

John wasn’t surprised, wasn’t upset that the massaging and rubbing so close to his groin was having an effect. He lay there, half-hard in his boxers, staring up at the ceiling in a kind of lucid haze, actually enjoying it. He felt something tugging at his boxers and let out a sigh of relief as they slid down his legs and off. Another probe, this one flat and flexible, wrapped around him and stroked long and slow, and John found that while struggling before had only pinned him tighter to the bed, moaning and writhing were allowed. He wondered, hazily, why he’d been struggling.

One of the probes stopped rubbing his leg, and he almost whined aloud at the sudden cessation of contact. He felt it again, higher, moving almost lazily toward his entrance, and all he could think was _yes, God, there,_ as the probe thinned and shortened and pushed in.

The other massaging probe was urging his legs apart and he complied willingly, tossing his head back on the pillow as the probe inside him swelled a little, getting longer and thicker as it moved slowly in and out. Then the second probe was urging his hips up, and the tendrils that had been holding him down were suddenly gone, and John complied, lifting his hips so the probe could do something – and then the probe was urging him down, and John could feel pillows under him, angling him up.

The probe inside pulled out, and John whined in his throat, arching up, wanting the feeling back. He felt the probe pressing against his entrance again, but different – thicker, longer, harder, and it pushed in smoothly.

“Yes,” John gasped aloud, arching up from the bed as the probe thrust in and out of him. It was going slowly, and the probe still stroking him slowed to match the tempo of the thrusts. John writhed and moaned and begged for more, _harder, faster, oh God please oh God oh please _and the thrusts intensified, still timed perfectly to the strokes. He lifted his hips up, meeting each thrust, and felt the probe grow a little more inside him, giving him exactly what he was begging for.

John came with a long, low moan.

He lay there, panting, feeling the probe inside shrinking and pulling out gently as the probe around him let go. Another probe, holding a soft, damp cloth, wiped at him until he was clean, and he felt his boxers being tugged back up over his legs. The probes lifted him when he lay, limp, and the elastic settled around his waist.

The blankets were pulled up around him, and John slept.

\--

“Have a nice nap?” Rodney sneered, sounding irritated, and John blinked slowly awake.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up in the bed. “I did, actually.”

“Good. Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

John nodded and looked around the room again as he slid into his clothing. He’d have to see if he could find anything like this in Atlantis.


End file.
